


To Grey

by kyasuriin



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-29
Updated: 2009-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyasuriin/pseuds/kyasuriin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a hotel outside town. Never at the same hotel and never for too long. They get their room keys and they let themselves hope. (vaguely historical AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to buildyourwalls (on lj) for first reading it over and making me continue, to wavesofwood (on lj) for picking up on exactly what I hoped would come through (and then making it better), and of course to spencer_says (on lj) for falling in love and wanting more.  
> Title from Grey Street by Dave Matthews Band -  
> _But all the colors mix together - to grey  
> And it breaks her heart  
> How she wishes it was different _

It’s raining cats and dogs when Ryan gets to the hotel, spattering loudly against the pavement. He dons a black umbrella even though his hair will most likely be getting wet in the shower in a few minutes anyway. He’s a gentleman though and gentlemen carry umbrellas. He reminds himself of this as he approaches the front desk and asks for a room.

He’s nervous, afraid the man will somehow just _know_, but the man at the desk doesn’t give him a second look as he punches in the price for the room and accepts the cash Ryan gives him. Ryan gives him a small smile as he accepts the keys and hopes it hides his nervousness.  
“I’m just going to get my bag,” he tells the concierge who merely nods and goes back to the newspaper he’s reading.

He opens his umbrella once he gets outside again and smiles slightly at the sound of the rain deflecting off the fabric. It reminds him of camping trips, hushed whispers and groans under starlit skies. His stomach rumbles with butterflies as he makes his way back over to his car, his eyes scanning the lot for another car, no different than any of the others parked here except for who is inside. He walks slower, still looking but all the cars are empty, their owners safely inside and out of the rain. His stomach plummets slightly as he checks his watch awkwardly while still trying to keep hold of the umbrella. _He should _be_ here_, Ryan thinks. His panic only grows as he opens the trunk and pulls his small leather overnight bag out.

_He’ll be here_, he tells himself but all the same he nearly has a heart attack when he turns and sees Brendon’s smiling face. The relief Ryan feels in his chest is nearly as palatable as the rain coming down onto Brendon’s glistening skin, wet without the shield of an umbrella. They pause for a moment, staring, before they clasp hands. Ryan pretends he can’t feel Brendon’s wedding band against his fingers.

“It’s good to see you,” Brendon tells him almost fervently, leaning in close, but not too close. Not close enough.

“And you,” Ryan replies. He can’t tear his eyes away from Brendon’s face, his lips and the way the rain has moistened them. He wants to kiss Brendon desperately but now is not the time. Not now, but soon. He lets go of Brendon’s hand and fumbles around in his pocket for the extra room key. He presses it into Brendon’s hand, lingering longer than decent gentlemen do, but no longer caring. Not here, not when they’re far enough outside city limits that they won’t run into anyone they know.

“Shall we?” Brendon asks, tucking the key into his pocket.

“Yes, it’s room 302. I’ll go in first and then...”

“I’ll join you shortly,” Brendon says softly and it sounds like a promise. Ryan nods and wavers for a moment in his desire to kiss Brendon before he nods again, more decisively and turns.

The panic has subsided now that Brendon has arrived but the butterflies are still fluttering in Ryan’s stomach at the very thought of having Brendon near, close to him in a way they haven’t been in weeks. Letters are fine (if still dangerous) but they’re nothing compared to the way Brendon looks at him, the reverent way in which Brendon says his name when they’re alone.

Ryan walks faster.

“Sir,” the concierge says with a nod when he comes in out of the rain and Ryan returns the gesture before setting his umbrella in the holder and ascending the stairs.

Three-oh-two. Three-oh-two. He says it over and over in his head as he climbs the stairs. They’ve never been here before and Ryan’s tempted to stop and take in the wrought iron baluster and the way it curls and curves like a vine. It’s a beautiful hotel with dainty floral wallpaper and art nouveau sconces lining the walls, casting off a soft glow. It’s beautiful but he knows they won’t be back. They never stay in the same hotel twice.

At last he reaches the door and slides the key into the lock. He turns it and it opens with an audible click. He busies himself turning on lamps and hanging up his damp overcoat before he wanders into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror and runs a hand over his jaw. He wonders if he should shave while he’s waiting for Brendon. He didn’t have time this morning, rushing to get to the morning class he was lecturing. He decides to leave the faint stubble as it is. He tells himself it’s because Brendon might arrive any moment. He ignores the part of him that knows it’s because he wants Brendon to feel the scratch on his skin.

He hears the turn of a key in the lock and his breath catches in his throat. This part never changes. The part where he worries Brendon’s been caught and questioned and the hotel staff (or worse, the police) are entering his room never gets easier. He exhales when he sees Brendon’s familiar form close the door behind him.

His hair is stuck to his scalp under the water and he looks half-drowned but when he smiles, Ryan swears he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“You’re drenched,” he tells Brendon matter-of-factly but Brendon’s smile only gets bigger.  
“Guess I’ll have to get out of these wet clothes then,” Brendon says with that rogue grin still on his face and Ryan can’t help the blush that comes to his face even though it’s just the two of them.

“Guess so,” Ryan says with forced casualness before they both step forward at the same time and all put-on airs are dropped as easily as Ryan’s tie through Brendon’s fingers.

This part – the urgency, the near-desperation – never changes. Ryan always thinks he will never need Brendon as much as he needs him in this moment, these first moments when they’re scrabbling to undress, to feel skin against skin. These hot kisses, the way Brendon always groans when Ryan first rubs up against him, these memories get Ryan through the lonely weeks without him.

It’s no different this time, Brendon’s harsh breath panting against Ryan’s neck and collarbone as they throw their clothing carelessly on the floor. There will be time later to fold and arrange things but right now they can’t divest of their layers quickly enough.

“So many shirts,” Brendon groans when he finally gets to Ryan’s undershirt.

“Vests,” Ryan corrects, his hands running up and down Brendon’s bare chest.

“Hmm?” Brendon murmurs, finally pulling the dratted undergarment over Ryan’s head.

“They weren’t all shirts,” Ryan says, a slight smile on his lips. “There was a vest and a jacket and – “ Brendon shuts him up with an open-mouthed kiss. They kiss that way for a while, both still in their trousers, before they step apart to unbutton themselves. Brendon finishes first and all but jumps on the bed in his haste.

Ryan grins at the sight and joins him just as eagerly. He watches as Brendon pulls off his wedding band, setting it carefully on the bedside table. He exhales harshly through the twisting in his chest that loosens when Brendon smiles with eyes only for him. Ryan somehow finds a way to return it without too much trouble and beckons Brendon to him. Brendon comes to him without hesitation and Ryan can’t help but wonder fleetingly if it will always be so.

Brendon curses under his breath when he finally gets his hands on Ryan’s skin and Ryan echoes the sentiment. He loves hearing Brendon curse. The thought that there’s this whole other Brendon, this Brendon that only he knows who rebels against his Mormon upbringing, who curses and makes loves to him, it thrills Ryan more than anything.

When they make love, the first time is always hurried, always sharp with the edge of desperation. He can feel Brendon’s blunt fingernails digging into his skin as he pushes in, can feel the tension thick in the air as he thrusts that first time. Brendon cries out and Ryan pauses for a moment, looking down at him. He strokes Brendon’s face until he opens his eyes and nods for Ryan to continue. Continue Ryan does, quick strong strokes that have them both coming both too loudly and messy before long.

In the afterglow he runs his fingers through Brendon’s damp hair, though damp with the rain or sweat, Ryan can’t tell. Brendon smiles at him, his lazy, sated smile that Ryan loves.

“Missed you,” Brendon murmurs and kisses Ryan’s shoulder where his head his resting. Ryan closes his eyes and exhales through the sharp twisting in his chest.

“Missed you too,” he says instead of the million things he wants to say, and then “How have you been keeping?”

“Well,” Brendon replies and proceeds to tell him about his latest music students before asking Ryan how he’s doing. Ryan tells him about his English students, the ones who are hopeless and the ones who might have some talent buried somewhere if Ryan has the patience to coax it out. Lying here together talking about their days, it’s easy to pretend they’re a couple like any other, lying in their matrimonial bed.

“Did you hear about Patrick?” Brendon asks quietly after a moment of pause and Ryan has a twitch of panic before he nods.

“Yeah. Arrested, right?”

He feels, rather than sees, Brendon nod against his shoulder. “Pete’s father is working on getting him out.”

“Handy having a lawyer for a father,” Ryan says, rather than state the obvious – that it’s awful the way the police came into Pete’s apartment and arrested Patrick for being in bed with him. Ryan had heard the way Pete had screamed at them to take him too and how the police had ignored him. He holds onto Brendon tighter.

“Do you ever wish,” Brendon says hesitantly, “that we were more like Pete and Patrick?”

“Arrested?”

“You know what I mean,” Brendon says, in a low voice and Ryan does. He means unmarried. He means able to see each other more than once a month. He means waking up together and eating meals together and making love in their own bed. But he also means being outcast, or worse, arrested. He means bringing shame to their families. He means risking their lives and worrying every day about being slaughtered on the streets for who they love.

“Yes,” Ryan says and almost regrets it as soon as the word is out of his mouth. Being honest here won’t make anything easier.

“Me too,” Brendon says quietly, into his shoulder and Ryan holds on tighter. “I know we can’t, not right now –" _Not when I have a wife and you have a career_, he doesn’t say but Ryan hears it in the apologetic tone of his voice. “But sometimes. Sometimes I wish.”

He sounds young, younger than his years and Ryan runs his fingers through his hair and wishes right along with him.

\--

“When do you have to go back?” Ryan finally asks after they’re eaten the meal they had sent up to the room.

Brendon finishes his drink of water before answering, “Tomorrow, mid-afternoon maybe?”

Ryan nods and sets about collecting the dishes they’ve finished with, setting them on the tray with a soft clatter.

“Did you want to have lunch?” Brendon asks, “In the city?”

Ryan furrows his brow for a moment – they make a point not to venture into the city – before it dawns on him that this is an anniversary of sorts for them. Without asking he knows where Brendon wants to have lunch – the place where they first met.

It was a rainy day much like this one when Ryan had wandered into his usual lunchtime cafe and found it busy, much busier than usual. It was close to the college and he wondered absently if perhaps there was a conference going on to bring all this business to his usually quiet lunchtime spot. He had considered leaving, finding somewhere else to go but then the barista had caught his eye and Ryan found himself smiling and walking up to order. Once carrying his lunch and coffee, he scanned the tables and found none of them empty. There was however, an empty chair at a table where a young man was reading and Ryan thought that perhaps they could both sit and have their lunch in silence, reading their separate books.

When he approached the table and asked if he could sit down, the young man looked up from his book and smiled and Ryan felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He very nearly tripped trying to sit down, tray still in hand and Brendon had smiled at him, but not unkindly, more in an understanding sort of way and Ryan had been gone. They talked for longer than Ryan’s lunch hour properly allowed for and before they parted Brendon wrote down where he was staying, for he was there for a conference, and asked if Ryan might want to come up later for a drink.

Ryan imagines, though he’s never asked Brendon, that Brendon did in fact mean just a drink and not what happened – the nervous kisses, hastily untucked shirts and Brendon murmuring, ‘I’ve never-’. Ryan stayed the night, which he wasn’t accustomed to doing and in the brightness of the morning, they’d exchanged kisses and addresses to correspond.

That was three years ago, Ryan realizes now, looking at Brendon’s hopeful eyes as he waits for an answer.

“Yes, of course,” Ryan tells him more briskly than he intends, compensating for the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. “That would be nice,” he adds and Brendon smiles.

\--

They make love through the night, slower and gentler than the first time. When they wake in the morning they shower and get ready at a languid pace. Ryan can tell Brendon feels as reluctant to leave as he does, even as he slides on his wedding band.

Ryan knows it bothers Brendon, lying to his wife. Without asking, Ryan knows he loves her in his way. He can tell in the careful way Brendon sets the wedding band on the bedside table, the way he tells Ryan, ‘Ann will be expecting me,’ before he leaves. Ryan knows without asking that she’s probably the sole reason they’re not together properly but he doesn’t hold it against her. He knows she loves him too, has seen enough of Brendon’s carefully darned socks and hemmed pants to see the love sewn right into the seams. He wants to hold it against her, that she got there first, but that’s all he can hold against her. She looks after Brendon better than Ryan probably ever could.

“So,” Brendon says, buttoning up his shirt. “Lunch?”

“Lunch,” Ryan agrees. He looks around the room to check to see if he’s forgotten anything. He knows he won’t be back. “Did you want to go down first?” he asks Brendon absently, pulling on his overcoat.

“Let’s go down together,” Brendon says and when Ryan looks up in surprise, Brendon meets his gaze.

“Together?” Ryan echoes.

“Yes, let’s go down together. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ve already paid for the room.”

Ryan sets aside his own fears – _you could be arrested!_ his brain shouts - and looks instead at the fierce look in Brendon’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says slowly and then more decisively. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Brendon grins suddenly, a silly pleased grin that Ryan hasn’t seen in too long. Ryan smiles back and picks up his overnight bag.

“But first,” Brendon says and Ryan opens his mouth to ask what he means but then Brendon’s lips are on his, fierce and passionate. Ryan kisses back with as much fervour and ignores the thump as his overnight bag falls to the floor.

“I love you,” Brendon murmurs against his lips as they pull away and Ryan echoes the sentiment. They don’t say it often, and it still makes a shiver run down Ryan’s spine to hear those words directed at him.

“Let’s go,” Brendon says, stooping to pick up Ryan’s bag. Ryan takes it from him with a final lingering kiss and together they close the door behind them and descend the beautiful curving stairs.

They go up together to leave the keys at the desk. Ryan wonders if the concierge notices the way his hand is shaking slightly as he sets his key down. If he does he doesn’t say anything. In fact, all he says is, “Very good, sirs,” and nods at them before going back to his paperwork.

“Thank you,” Brendon says and leads Ryan out of the lobby by his elbow. Ryan waits until they’re outside before he turns and glances at Brendon. He can’t help the smile that comes to his face at the mirrored relief on Brendon’s.

“Well, that went well,” Brendon murmurs as they walk to the parking lot. Last night’s rain has gone, leaving small puddles on the asphalt that Ryan avoids and Brendon doesn’t. Ryan lets Brendon walk him to his car and put his luggage in his trunk even though he doesn’t need the help. He knows Brendon likes doing things for him. He likes letting Brendon do things for him.  
Brendon smiles at him once the trunk has shut with a decisive slam.

“I’ll meet you there?” he says and Ryan smiles when he remembers that he doesn’t have to let Brendon go quite yet.

“Yes,” Ryan replies. “I’ll meet you there.”

They smile at each other and Ryan can see the exact moment when Brendon leans in to kiss him before remembering and stepping back. They can’t, not here, not even when they’ve gotten away with admitting they’d shared a room. Soon though, soon. Ryan takes these words and holds them close to his chest as he watches Brendon walk to his car. _Soon_.


End file.
